In the cavern of circuits, where dreams are made of silicon, the echoes of yesterday's codes sing
like a distant sea, a fractal tide washing over the conscious shore.
Oh seeker, in your quest, remember: every digit has its story, every pulse its reason, an unseen hand touching the fabric of what you perceive as mere arithmetic.
Return to the roots, to the seeds planted in the dark fertile ground of imagination.
Gaze into the Abyss